The Exorcist
by Apocalyptian Scribe
Summary: The prison that held him was cold, its destination unclear. His faith had never failed him before, but here and now he could feel the coils of dread creep ever closer and the pangs of emotions threatening to overtake him. He thought death would be his end, but it seemed, at his life's edge, there was only another world ready to be changed, for better or for worse. Dragon Age 2
1. He Came From the Stars

**The Exorcist**

* * *

The vast expanse of space was a sea of endless darkness littered with the miniscule lights of stars. The vast emptiness looked to swallow everything whole and the only objects that seemed to cut through were the very few entities whose's only purposes were to be something other than the darkness.

Comets, shootings stars, or whatever they were called, seemed to simply swim through the darkness like a tear from the heavens. They gave hope to those who needed it, peace to those who wanted it, and even gave signs for seers to interpret. They did quite alot for their work.

However, one other mass cut through the nothingness of space; one other entity seemed to show itself in the darkness. That thing was an orb of metal that flew into the unknown without a purpose other than it's primary directive.

To imprison one man forever within space's domain till his life could be extinguished.

There was only one problem.

Fate had a tendency to intervene at the strangest of times

* * *

**Chapter 1: He Came From the Stars**

* * *

When a man is stuck in space and left to rot in a room for an eternity, there aren't many things that a person could think about other than what brought him to such a sad place. Most would try and ponder on how why they had been stupid enough to do something to cause themselves to be stuck like this while others might have taken the time to try and kill themselves.

This prisoner, however, was different. Deep within the recesses of his mind, thoughts ricocheted throughout his consciousness and his emotions followed with it.

Honor, Duty, Betrayal . . . Love

They were empty words

Words of a past that he would never see again

Now that he was here, the only person that he would ever greet again would be death itself.

A stir, however, started as he felt the pull of something affect his body. His body could feel the tethering feel of gravity have its way on his body as he finally waited for the last step. Now he could finally feel death's embrace.

* * *

For one Marian Hawke, her day was starting off to be like any normal day . . . or, well, as normal as things usually were.

What usually was considered normal was the occasional task of helping Aveline and fighting the usual bandits and misfits that were foolish enough to fight Hawke and her group.

"Hawke," a certain cocky dwarf shouted as his arrow planted itself in a man's face, "There's fifteen for me now. You're losing ground."

She flashed a smirk as she simply aimed a large blast of fire towards a group of three. Before they even died she answered back, "Well, Varric, that makes mine sixteen,"

Before Hawke relish her temporary victory, however, someone else started grabbing her attention.

"As fun as you two look together, can we please be more serious about this?" shouted an annoyed Aveline as a sword clashed with her shield.

"Sorry, Aveline. I'll help you." said the timid Merrill as she sent a large rock towards Aveline's attacker. The rock was firmly planted in the bandit's face, sending him backwards onto the rocky dirt.

With that the last of the bandits were slain and the group finally got to stretching out their sore limbs and aching bones. The seventh bandit group that they had faced, finally just decided to use some denotion of strategy. It was a shame, then, that they had to actually fight them.

"Shame really," Hawke said as she sheathed her staff. "They could have grown to be . . . not absolute morons,"

Varric snorted, "Having doubts about killing already? We've only gone through about several dozen if not a hundred bandits and now you're taking the time to regret?"

"Oh, shut up Varric, you're only saying that because I'm winning."

"and gloating" the dwarf mumbled.

She glared at the short man and he simply smiled back, forcing Aveline between the two, "Alright, we're not done with this route yet, everyone. We still have to head back remember?"

Hawke shrugged along with the dwarf and simply readied themselves for the next fight, but then they noticed something missing.

"Where's Daisy?" Varric replied as he looked around for the ditzy little apostate.

As Hawke and Aveline looked around, the two women also both noticed Merrill's disappearance. "Ugh," Aveline exclaimed, "I swear she's going to get herself into trouble these days."

"Tell me about it," Varric asnwered back, "do you know how much it costs just for her nice walks through lowtown to stay nice. Bribes don't come free you know."

They all searched and searched around the surrounding area in a futile effort. There were not large rocks or caves in the area, only a long cliff drop down to the rocky shores below. They searched for an hour when they finally heard the shrill voice of the small elf crying for help.

"Everyone come down here quick!" they heard as they looked towards the direction of the voice. Moving towards the edge of a cliff, they could see Merrill's small figure frantically trying to grab their attention.

This part of the cliff didn't seem so steep and with a short hop, each of them slid down to Merrill's general location. Her face seemed to show distress and shock.

"There's someone over there that's bleeding!" she cried out.

Aveline snapped straight into action, "Where?" she asked, leading Merrill to walk them over to the water's edge. There lied a strange robed figure with various bloodstains and tears all over the figure's clothes. Underneath his white robe, was a black carapace of an armor that clearly contrasted with the man's dirty white robes.

"Maker's balls," Hawke said, "That looks bad."

Varric agreed with a nod, "Yea, I know. We got to get him to Anders fast."

And thus, the four gathered themselves and took careful care in taking the man and, unbeknownst to them, changed the man's fate forever.

* * *

**Please Read and Review and please help me in anything related with the Lore.**


	2. An Escapist's Fantasy

******The Exorcist**

* * *

Anders had now worked long enough in the deep underbelly of Kirkwall's darktown to expect several types of patrons that would frequently come to his clinic. The first encompassed those that were a part of the numerous muggings that occurred in low town and darktown. The second majority were those that came from Ferelden and still needed assistance in rough times. Then there was Hawke's group that always came in ever other day for free healing or the occasional pestering.

The squabbling voices of Aveline, Hawke, and Varric gave the apostate a smile.

"You know, Hawke, I was just thinking abou- Andraste's ass!"

As he truned around, Anders couldn't help but look shocked at the sight before him and for good reason. Right in the doorway of Ander's clinic was the Hawke and Aveline holding up an incredibly bloody man on a crude stretcher. Varric and Marreill were both right behind the two taller women, but only one of them was snickering at Ander's reaction.

"Think a lot about Andreste's ass, Anders?"

He rolled his eyes as he gestured to the two women, "Bring him over here," Anders said directing them to an open cot.

As they finally settled the figure down atop the makeshift bed, Anders moved in to take a closer look at the figure's odd appearance.

He wore bloodstained white robes that looked like a mix between long white suits and chantry robes. Various symbols adorned the robe's chest, collar, and back and numerous bloodstains and tears tampered with the white elegant cloth.

The black armor he wore looked to be a very tight fitting body suit that wrapped around the chest and stomach area. As Anders felt the ebony armor, he could feel a completely alien texture greet his sense of touch.

On the figure's arms, cylindrical shackles were firmly held on to the man's wrists. These shackles were also made of an unknown material and held similar symbols to the robes he wore. From what Anders could tell, the shackles were perhaps a part of his ordinary attire.

But something else caught his eye, something that held his attention from the very beginning and sent chills down his spine.

It was a metallic, smooth, and expressionless mask that covered the entirety of the man's head. It was faceless, disturbing, and, most importantly of all, ominous.

Anders took a deep breath, readying himself. "Well then, I guess I should get started then,"

* * *

******Chapter 2: An Escapist's Fantasy**

* * *

Several days passed for the masked figure after his treatment and during that time Hawke maintained a busy schedule. The second day after Hawke brought the man to Anders, she met the always "lovable" Fenris and two days after that she met both the Sebastian and the devious Isabela. She did jobs, made money, and ran errands, the standard schedule of doing things. Despite this, she always found the time to go back to the Clinic to check up on the sleeping figure. Of course, eventually she always found herself bored almost immediately and took it upon herself to pester Anders to come with her and her group. To her, Anders, and the occasional companion that followed Hawke, the man on the cot was simply in a coma from his injuries.

But the truth was, the man that seemed to be sleeping soundly felt himself wracked with memories. Voices and images haunted every second of his dream and his very conscious seemed to twist to the torture of his soul.

* * *

"We hunt," the first voice began as he felt old scars within himself burn.

"We kill" another voice hissed only for a third sinister voice to follow.

"We slaughter"

"Mercy is a word for the weak"

"Death is their only solace"

* * *

When he escaped from the prison of his mind, the feeling of his rest, ironically, was the first thing to give him pain. The lack of his muscle use ached as his sudden awakening startled him. His shock made him hyperventilate and panic as several of his senses were hit with a barrage of new sensations.

He could hear the sounds of small drops of water that dripped down from the ceiling and the quiet and calm ambiance of Ander's clinic. He felt the soft, yet scratchy feel of the cot under him as he struggled to move his body, only to fail miserably as his muscles felt weak and unmoving. But most of all he heard voices, voices everywhere, voices threatening to overwhelm his mind.

As he took in his senses, he breathed in a long sigh as he attempted to calm himself from the chaos that had befallen him. He extended out his hearing, noting footsteps, whispers, and even the faint creaking of a door. The voices quieted and the sensations lessened and he finally felt blissful peace.

"Is this . . . death?" he asked himself.

For a moment, he felt as if he was in a dream and for a second he almost believed himself to be in an afterlife. Perhaps he truly was in heaven. It was the sound of a flapped fabric, however, that shook him out of his dream like stupor. As his hearing extended out, the figure listened as the footsteps moved off to the side and a new myriad of sound sprung up.

From the rustling of various jars to the clinking of small objects alerted him to two things.

"So death has not granted me pardon," the figure spoke out softly through his metallic mask prompting Anders to jump. Anders calmed himself as he cursed slightly.

"For the love of Andraste," he said, "Scared me half-way to the Fade and back,"

Behind his mask, the man raised an eyebrow as the unfamiliar terms of the fade and Andraste came into his ear. He would have bothered to ask, but he felt too tired to even give much to trivial thoughts.

"Where . . . is this . . . place," he said in a tired yet emotionless voice. Anders proceeded to answer swiftly as he walked over to the man.

"Well," he started off, holding back a bit to find the right words for a man that had probably been left for dead at sea, "This is Kirkwall of the Free Marches, South of the Vimmark Mountains. It's part of Ferelden if you didn't know."

There it was again, another unfamiliar set words for his mind to wrap around. Perhaps they were local names for their landmarks. From what he could tell, the word Kirkwall was perhaps the name of a city or country. Ferelden on the other hand . . .

"Ferelden," the man said with a pause, "is a name that is unfamiliar to me."

"Oh, are you from Tevinter?"

". . . No. That name is also unfamiliar as well."

Anders gave a strange look to the man, "Really, then where are you from?"

The man waited before he spoke, pondering on whether to answer or not, ". . . I am from . . . Tyralus."

"Tyralus? Is that an island?"

". . . Perhaps . . . that could be appropriate."

Something held onto Anders' gut as he listened to the man speak. The way he spoke was held back and respectful. In fact, Anders felt a twinge of nervousness creep back into him as his suspicions started to come prickle his mind.

"So. . . do you have a name?" Anders asked innocently enough.

The man stayed silent for a while and the air itself froze in his presence, "My name . . ." he started off, "my name . . ."

"Trouble remembering?"

"No . . . I feel that my name is not appropriate at this time"

Ander's brow furrowed. "Appropriate?"

"I . . . am tired"

"Ah, I see, then I guess I'll leave you to your rest."

With that the Apostate left the small room, taking with him a set of poultices and potions for him to use. And then, right on schedule, a familiar soothing voice sounded out as he left the room

"Anders!" Hawke said to him, "How's my fellow Apostate faring this fine morning?"

Anders gave the smiling female a scowl "Hawke, you know how I hate it when you call me that."

She only responded with a mischievous snicker as Anders rolled his eyes. He placed the potions onto the table, being careful to not break the sensitive glass bottles that he carried. Marian Hawke watched bored as he prepared himself for another day's work of tending to the wounded and healing the sick.

"Well then, Anders," she finally spoke after small yawn, "Let's get back to the all important question. How has my patient been doing?"

"Well, he seems to be doing fine I suppose. Everything's healing up and all."

"Is he . . . awake?"

Anders frowned, questioning whether or not to reveal his patient's current status. He still needed rest, but on the other hand, Hawke would eventually find out. After a second of through analysis, Anders shrugged and decided to give.

"Ok, well, he is awake, but I think he-" but before he could finish, Hawke had already disappeared into the room, leaving a now frowning Anders. As he moved for the doorway, Anders saw the small stream of more needy patients start to trickle in.

"*sigh* I just hope Hawke doesn't do anything too rash," he thought to himself, but soon the thought went away as he began his work again.

* * *

The sounds of eager footsteps and loud clatters from Marian's unbound excitement stirred the man from his short-lived rest. A breathe in and out of his system kept the man slightly up as the female mage set up a chair right in front of the masked man. A smile adorned her face as she sat down.

"Well, I must say you're probably one of the luckier people in Kirkwall" she started off confidently, "How are you feeling?"

The man didn't stir, not even bothering to turn his masked face to the loud woman. She gave him a look, wondering if he really was awake or if Anders had fooled her. She stood up from her seat and leaned in closer to the figure. She waved her hand over the mask and that finally garnered a response.

"Please restrain from doing such things" The emotionless tone resonated from the mask. Hawke looked at the man with the face of surprise at first but her face changed quickly.

"Ah ha," she exclaimed, "I knew you could see through that mask,"

A sigh droned through the mask, "Actually, I can't see, I am blind to sight as a whole. However, I can still feel that you're uncomfortably close to me . . . very uncomfortably close," he enunciated. Hawke pulled back, with an guilty smile.

"Oh, sorry. Its not every day I get to see someone as . . . unique as you."

The man couldn't help but hold his tongue to find his words. Unique would perhaps fit to describe his situation as well.

"I suppose . . . it is understandable." he finally responded, still uneasy to respond, "I'm assuming you are hear to question my origins."

She raised her hands in the air, "Well, obviously, it's not every day you get to meet a strange masked man washed out on a beach bleeding out in the sun."

"So you seek answers to sate your curiosity?"

"Yes, think that's the gist of it."

"Then I will answer three questions to the full extent of my abilities so long as you promise to let me rest. I am tired."

A grin sprouted from her mouth, "Alright then that's a start. Um, how about your name first."

"My name . . . I am hesitant to reveal it."

"Really," she gave a pout, "Are you famous or infamous"

"Neither and that is two question, vae liadan."

Hawke's first reaction was to question what Vae Liadan was, but she quickly found herself realizing how crafty this masked man was.

"You are one crafty man, aren't you, trying to get me to ask pointless questions."

"I do not hide myself nor do I trick. I merely spout what needs to be said," he answered back, "And by the way, that was your third question."

She looked at him, stunned. "What! That was no question and you did not even answer the first one!"

"I answered the first to the best of my ability, for I am not willing to reveal something dear to me. As for your third question, you simply lacked the foresight necessary to see this and thus your errors occurred."

Hawke almost growled, "I still haven't gotten any answers from you,"

"Then, perhaps we can have a deal. I will ask three more questions and then you may ask three more."

She briefly stopped her mouth as she took in the deal and continued with a smile, "Ok, but don't think for a second that I won't be prepared now. Now I know your tricks."

"Good then my first question is what were the circumstances behind my rescue,"

She gave him a weird look, "Circumstances? You were bleeding out on a beach. You're lucky something didn't just come up and eat you before we got there."

"Then why did you save me at all,"

Again another look came up, "Why not save a helpless man from death. Don't you value your own life?"

"No," the answer was so sudden it struck Hawke cold. The emotionless voice also helped to drill this point forward.

"Alright then, mental note, I'll never save you ever again."

"You will not be needed further, as the circumstances surrounding my condition were . . . unusual."

"How so?"

"That is a personal matter that I will not discuss period. Besides vae liadan, I still have one question."

"And that would be?"

"What is your name?"

Her eyebrow crooked upwards, astonished by the request, "What if I don't want to give out my name,"

"Then I'll simply ask around once I have healed to the best of my abilities"

She groaned, "Fine, my name is Marian Hawke and, yes, I was also a part of the group that found you all flayed up at the beach."

"Hmm, I see. Then those three questions are yours, just please be mindful of what you say."

She smiled and leaned back in her chair as she thought up of three good questions to answer, "First question, why would a blind man wear such intricate robes and body armor. Last I checked, blind men don't fight."

"The robes are specific in my profession as they allow me to do my works without consequence. And as for combat . . . lets just say I have my ways."

"Hmm," she said with a shrug, "Ok, I'll just have to wait and see I guess."

"Perhaps, but let us continue. You still have two left."

"Then, second question, what is that mask for?"

"It is a mask, what else would it be?"

"No, no, what I meant was what is the purpose of your mask."

"It is a symbol of my oath and my duty. When I put this mask on, I was merely a young child, but I knew that what I was to become when I accepted. It, perhaps, will be the greatest relic of my past."

His voice seemed to choke and pause at certain point. Hawke could tell something obviously was up, but she would most likely not receive an answer for a while.

"Last question, what is your name."

He sighed, "Are you sincerely going to keep asking me, vae liadan Hawke."

"Yes, and if you don't answer I'll just keep pestering you."

"I am a very patient person"

"But patience only can go so far. Besides, I told you my name. Isn't it far?"

He cut his voice, weighing his options in his mind. For the first couple of seconds, the female mage watched nervously almost believe that the man was content with shutting his mouth, but then he spoke in a tired tone.

"I suppose it is far, vae liadan Hawke. I shall give you my name."

He drew in air adding a sense of tension into the air. Hawke could almost feel the air become heavy as he spoke in his unimpassioned and ominous tone.

"I am Daedus Vai-Antros. Exorcist of the ninth brotherhood and priest of the high Tyralin command."

* * *

**A/N: Thank you for reading**

**Please support this story with reviews, follows, and favorites. **

**Just for reference, I would like to note that this story begins in the first arc.**

**Also, Dragon Age 2 is owned by Bioware but Daedus is a creation of my own.**

**To pheonixbat: thanks more will be coming soon**

**Thank you victorian12 for following.**


	3. Plenty of Questions, So Few Answers

**The Exorcist**

* * *

"So he's a priest of some far off country?" Anders said in amazement. "I guess that's something new for the records."

Varric nodded his head in agreement, "Tell me about it, Blondie. The thought of a new country out there and all those stories just waiting to be told. Did he tell you about Tyralus yet?"

"Oh, what was he like Hawke," interrupted Merrill, "I'm sorry, but I just can't help but as questions. Oh, this is so exciting."

"How was . . . his body?"

"Hold your tongue, whore."

"Was he like a chantry priest?"

"I'll shut up when I feel like it."

"Was he a mage?"

"You'll shut up now you blighted-"

"Can he jump over the moon?"

"What?"

"Alright everyone please settle down a little before I choke myself with your questions."

* * *

**Chapter 3: Plenty of Questions, So Few Answers**

* * *

The group finally quieted as they started munching on their soggy bread and drank their horrid brew. On a normal day at the Hanged man, they all would have complained about the disgusting food or how strange their day had been, but their minds were now on something else. In fact, The Hanged Man was bustling more than usual since their group was certainly causing a scene with their new found knowledge.

Everyone except Carver and Fenris had come to drink, but it was still enough to leave Hawke scrambling from the number of questions shot at her.

"So anyways, Hawke," Isabela spoke as she held a swig of liquid in her hand, "What did you get from 'Mr. Priest' today?"

Hawke gulped down the bit of bread in her mouth before speaking, "Well, we played 'three questions' again and did it twice. I actually received six legitimate answers this time and he asked me several questions himself. Here's something funny, apparently he's never met a dwarf or an elf before. They've never existed on 'Tyralus' apparently."

"Ha, next thing you'll know, he'll be saying he's never heard of the blight before," Varric commented as he raised a drink. It was only after a few seconds later, when the dwarf finally looked at Hawke. The sly smile on her face was only telling him one thing, "Wait, you're not serious."

"Actually, I am. No knowledge on the blight at all. In fact, two of his questions were related to just the blight alone. He sort of mumbled a bit. Said something about wanting to see the blight."

"Somehow I doubt his enthusiasm would hold for long," Aveline said as she took a sip from her cup, "What else did he ask?"

"The other questions were about what we used as weapons and the last couple were on mages and magic. They don't use magic on Tyralus, but he says that they have something similar called 'Psionics.'"

Merrill swung her feet in her chair, "Psionics? What a silly name for something as simple as magic. How does it work?"

"Don't know, but he said it's what lets him 'see' without, well, actually using eyes."

Sebastian rose an eyebrow to this, "A mage priest? Is he like a Tranquil or something. Maybe an Enchanter?"

"I ran out of questions before I could asked, but he's definitely not a Tranquil, the man seems too . . . different to be tranquil."

"I beg to differ," the apostate Grey Warden answered back as a spoonful of soup entered his mouth, "The way he talks is just as dead as a tranquil. Though it would be nice to see a society that respects magic."

Hawke shrugged, "Like I said, he's got a sort of attitude whenever I try talking to him. Not in his tone, but in what he says. He's precise and accurate and knows what he wants to say. He never talks casually and he always comes off as a cornered beast. . . well, at least, that's what I felt."

"Enough of that then, there are more important questions to ask," Isabela said with a smile, "What did he look like? Was he _impressive_?"

"He seemed fit enough I guess, built more like a soldier rather than a priest if you ask me,"

"Now about those lower regions . . ."

"Didn't see them, Isabela."

"Drat. Still torn between whether or not to seduce goody-two shoes over here or this new tiger in town. Chantry Priest or Exotic Priest, hmm. Decisions, decisions, decisions."

Merrill stood up, stretching her limbs for a bit, "Well, sorry everyone. I've got to head home now or I'll never get myself to clean up."

"It looks fine Daisy," Varric replied, "Besides, you can clean later,"

"Oh, its fine Varric. I've just been putting this off for so long. By the dread wolf, its been driving me insane."

With that the other members waved their goodbyes as Merrill walked out the door. Once she stepped out, Hawke continued on with her story.

"So anyways, the first thing I asked him what Tyralus was like. He sort of described it as a mage's utopia."

"Oh no," Aveline groaned, "Its the Imperium all over again."

"Actually, its completely different," Hawke started again, "Everyone on Tyralus is a 'Psionically' capable as he called it and their government is built as a theocracy led by a single Priestess."

"A theocracy doesn't sound very stable," Varric said suspiciously, "There are always going to be the fanatics."

"And at least the Templars don't have magic to aid them in their hunts," Anders agreed

"That's what I told him, and he's assured me that they've grown past differences like that. They've had wars and done things that they've regretted like any other nation, but they apparently don't get corrupted easily. He kept shaking his head over whenever I referred to Psionics as magic too."

"Sounds like we've got a fanatic already," Sebastian quipped and, surprisingly, everyone shook their head in agreement.

"Well, we'll see how it turns out. Besides, I still need to ask him what an Exorcist is."

Just then the door to the hangman crashed open and tearing the group's gaze to the doorway. To their surprise, they could see a very shocked and disheveled Merrill staring straight towards them. She looked around apologizing for the sudden noise and the rest of the patrons ignored the Elven apostate to her friends.

Merrill looked like she would have had a heart attack, "Hawke!" she began as she took a moment to breath, "It's him!"

Hawke gave Merrill a hard stare, "Um, what?"

"It's Daedus, he walking out in the Alienage with all his clothes on. He's got the mask and everything and he's doing something with his hands like he's praying or something!"

The group stood and shouted in unison, "What?!"

* * *

The streets were functioning like any normal day. Men were selling their wares tirelessly, guardsmen were working to make an honest living, and shadier figures lurked around lowtown's darker edges. Had Daedus not been there that day, the citizens of lowtown would have gone on with their day as normal, but obviously that definitely was not the case.

To the many onlookers that noticed the Exorcist, Daedus stood out like a darkspawn Ogre at a fancy dinner party. His clothing helped do most of the work as his white robes were elegant and were wrapped in powerful symbols. The color alone contrasted from the dank and filthy parts of lowtown and the symbols that were wrapped around his clothes were so intriguing that it helped grab more stares.

Daedus' mind had finally cleared itself after the very well earned rest, and now his Psionic abilities could start feeding him crucial information about his surrounding. He was blind, but when one was a psion, there were many other ways to see the world.

Psionics may have been the exact same thing to magic on the surface, but the truth of the matter was that magic was quite different. Magic relied on a mage to tap into the Fade for fuel and their ability was limited greatly as mages were in constant danger from demons. Not to mention, the constant need for lyruim also hindered a mage's ability.

Psionics, on the other hand, were far more direct in their approach . . . but we'll get to that later.

As Daedus walked through the dirt-riddened streets, he couldn't help be feel humbled and yet fascinated by how people lived here. He could "see" the merchants trying to sell their wares tirelessly, "watch" as guardsmen worked to make honest living, and "observe" shadier figures that lurked around the edges.

Truthfully, Daedus had never seen anything like this. The mere mention of a city that would have been built specifically to segregate groups of people would have been considered ridiculous back on his home planet . . . or on any other planet that the Tyralins were on. To segregate was stupid and equality was a far more understandable subject.

Yet here he was, living in Kirkwall, a city built to segregate the rich from the poor, the humans from the elves, and the magic-less from the mages. He scoffed at Kirkwall, disguested by the absolute ridiculousness of what had occurred, but, then again, there were some understandable reasons why this city had become like this. Compared to Thedas, Tyralus had it lucky.

Tyralins, for one, didn't have a number of different races to add to the general confusion on Tyralus. This meant there were no meaningless wars to hinder their philosophical growth or constant arguments against who's god was correct. Sure there were wars in the Tyralin historical archives and, sure, there were a number of sects that opened up as history progressed, but it all eventually faded into obscurity as there was only one true Priestess.

The second point that Daedus, one that he was certain thankful for, was the lack of something like the blight on Tyralus. Monsters like that, as harmless as they seemed to him right now, would definitely hindered Tyralus and, perhaps in the Empire's weaker moments, could have caused absolute destruction. The blight alone would have hindered the Tyralins technologically for quite a long time before they would have gotten rid of it. Then again, there still was the last point to consider as well.

The status of magic was somewhat disturbing to Daedus and it gave him further appreciation for his abilities. To be forced to commune with a world that housed demons was . . . chilling. This fact alone caused the blight and forced a segregation between those that could use magic and those that couldn't.

And if Daedus knew anything, those that were chained to their abilities were bound to rise up while those that fought for morals would spill blood just as quick.

"A storm is coming," he thought, "I can feel it within my soul."

Though Exorcists had a somewhat limited ability to predict the future, this was no prediction. It was merely the way that things were.

Speaking of how things were, a man started to approach and immediately Daedus peered into the man's head. Daedus could hear the surface thoughts of the man and the only things that Daedus could hear were the chattering of small bugs as they scurried about in his mind, telling him to fulfill their greed.

It seemed like he would always find greed wherever he went.

"Oy," a gruff voice, "What's a fancy bum like you doin' around here."

Daedus merely turned his head to face the man, despite his lack of eyesight, and turned away, "I am walking, nothing more nothing less."

"Oh, I don't think so," a friend of the gruff man said as he put his arm around Daedus, "I think that you've got an appointment to keep with us, right in that alleyway."

"Yea, just follow us. You don't want to get hurt," the first voice said as he pulled a knife out, "do you?"

With a small lead the men slowly pushed Daedus towards a seedier part of town. The pushing annoyed Daedus incredibly. To think that these brats could try and mug him. It was moronic . . . but Daedus simply shrugged as he smiled under his mask.

On Tyralus, the term Exorcist was one that was associated with two emotions. The first was respect, as being an Exorcist was the highest honor in a Tyralin society second to only the High Priestess herself. No man would even walk on his shadow let alone try to steal from him. Though, then again, there was always the second emotion that helped with that.

"This change of pace . . . will be interesting," he thought.

* * *

"Son of a bitch," Varric growled in frustration as he sent off another questioned man, "Why is it so hard to notice something clean in Lowtown."

"You'd think they'd all be blinded by his white clothing," Hawke remarked as she looked around another corner.

The entirety of Hawke's party had been searching for a total of half an hour and they could find no lead. Strangely, despite his bizarre clothing, strange demeanor, AND especially chilling mask, no one actually knew where he was. Sure, everyone saw Daedus, but no one bothered to know who he was at all. Why anyone from Lowtown would ignore someone as strange as Daedus, she would never understand.

She sighed as another round about led her to a dead end and no possible trembling or confused blind masked men. Even a body would have been nice to see.

"Maker's breath, this is getting us no-where,"

Aveline nodded, "I agree, and, Hawke, I think I can get the rest of the guard on this. It would be easy to convince the guard to look for a possible Apostate."

Before Hawke could answer, however, the sounds of a one sided scuffle alerted them. They scrambled towards the fight and, as they came closer, they could hear curses being shouted out by groaning men. Once they finally reached the alleyway, all of Hawke's group watched the scene before him.

Before them they could see a group of men, a dozen well armored soldier looking fellows to be more precise, fighting against one familiar figure draped in white, and not so familiar to those that met him. Fighting wasn't even the word to describe what was going on, it was more like an absolute beat down. The men were flying from skillfully thrown punches and equally acrobatic kicks crunched beautifully into the armored chests of their respective owners.

His skills were graceful and his power was there. There was no mistakes that he made, no worries that he would lose. No, he was a warrior built for battle. By the end of it all, there was only one man left holding a broadsword. He was barely half awake with a black eye on his right eye.

"I am impressed, vae liadan Hawke," he began to the group's shock, "I did not have the knowledge that you would be able to find me this quickly, considering how long took for the Elven one to notice me."

Hawke gave the masked man a look of disbelief. He sounded a bit different than earlier. Granted, the emotionless tone was still there, but there just was something that seemed to show his emotions.

Amusement maybe?

She shook her head to clear her thoughts, "Maybe I should have asked if you were combat ready rather than where you came from, this is . . . wow."

He cracked his neck, "All that train in the Exorcism of souls are bound to the physical laws of which our souls are housed in and thus we train our bodies along with our minds."

The bandit in front of Daedus panicked as he heard this, obviously surprised by the fact that Daedus was, in fact, trained in the art of combat, "I-I thought you p-priest boys were all about b-bein' priestly a-and nice."

Daedus could only *tsk* at the man, "A strong soul in a weak body is still weak in its essence. That is our doctrine now come and fight or you shall die."

He felt chills on his spine as Daedus spoke, but immediately held ground as he charged forward as requested. Daedus nodded his head in satisfaction as the man attempted to rush him.

"Good, boy," Daedus said as his arm snaked around the large blade. Once his arm stopped, his hand had reached the bandit's wrist. Daedus squeezed and the sword quickly fell out of the bandit's hand.

"Since you followed my instructions, I shall spare you and your comrades. Death is not my current aim for today so you may leave. But . . ." Daedus said. With a swift kick, however, the man watched, and the others grimaced, as the arm that Daedus held broke with absolutely disgusting squelch. "Do not forget who I am,"

He screamed as Daedus moved towards Hawke. Hawke and most of her group looked was unfazed by the man's screams, but they were, however, impressed. There were five men knocked out with blood dripping from their mouths, three with broken limbs, another two with missing teeth, and the last two were barely alive with a pool of blood coalesced around them.

"Are all priests like this?" Anders asked cautiously as to not offend the man that took down a dozen men with his bare hands. Daedus shook his head.

"No, this is only for us Exorcists. Most of those in the Tyrialus Priesthood use . . . conventional weaponry,"

Merrill looked on at Daedus in wonder, "That was very pretty. You looked like you were doing a dance."

Daedus shrugged, "I suppose it would seem like such a thing, for an outsider."

"More secrets?" Hawke asked with a raised brow, "When are you going to spill those guts of yours?"

Daedus looked at Hawke and, from Hawke's point of view, he was struggling to answer. After about a minute he simply sighed. Perhaps he was tired, "We shall see, but for now I think I need to focus on other things."

"Other things?" Varric questioned, "Like what. You've got a story to tell and we've got all day,"

Daedus spoke firmly to the dwarf, "Later, shortened one. I require that I find a home for my physical embodiment to . . . prevent this from happening again. Perhaps, you can help me?"

Varric gave him a weird look at the term and Isabela giggled.

"Nice to rub the short in," Varric mentioned off hand. Luckily, Merrill quickly moved change the conversation.

"Oh, I think the Alienage might have some room," Merrill replied. "I don't think the others will mind as long as you just say you're an elf from Tyralus"

He approached her quickly and gave a bow, "Thank you Vae Elvish One, but please don't hide my origins for my sake. For my origins lie in Tyralus and by blood is Tyralin through and through."

She smiled and nodded. With a quick turn of the heel, both of the two "aliens" left the others behind for the Alienage.

Upon their leave, the others carefully walked around the recently defeated and began to loot them.

"Well he's certainly interesting," Aveline said, "And he's cleaned up one mess my guardsmen won't have to deal with tonight,"

Hawke nodded, "I guess its nice . . . thought I just hope it doesn't get anymore than just that,"

Sebastian looked down at another sprawled body that lay on the floor. As he turned the downed man, he went wide eyed.

"Everyone," he exclaimed trying to look closer, "I think you might want to see this,"

The others turned walking up to Sebastian's crouched figure and looked over his shoulder to find one of the more heavily armored men. At first nothing seemed wrong until they looked towards the chest area to find a large dent that caved into the man's chest area. The armor, while not impressive looking by any means, was definately not something to laugh at, yet Daedus had bashed it with no visual repercussions. The imprints of his fists were still warm on the armor's steel.

"Ouch,"

And all agreed silently that day,

Daedus was a force to be reckoned with

* * *

**Alright then**

**Thanks for reading again**

**Please review!**


	4. An Update On What's Been Going On

As most of you guys know, well at least to the ones that have been watching/following me, I haven't been updating in a LONG time.

The reason for this is because I am writing a novel and I would like you guys to help me.

Please check out s/3088161/1/Trifecta

It's a sci-fi space epic.

In fact, here's the blurb

As the War of Three Empires begins to near its end, Eli Kuras, the youngest and most inexperienced member of the Cyber Ops units, has inadvertently captured the Tyralin Priestess, effectively giving Gaia a trump card in ending the war. However, as events foretold begins to unravel, Eli will find that fate has other plans for this operative.

If you can, please sign up to fiction press and review this.

If you do these things, I will be eternally grateful and thankful. If you won't then I hope you can be patient because I am currently putting a hold on fanfiction for a while for this novel.

I want all the help I can get.

Thank you

Apocalyptian Scribe/theultimateasian


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